<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Everyone Loves Sam by PinBitch</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365113">Everyone Loves Sam</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinBitch/pseuds/PinBitch'>PinBitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, It’s Not Mentioned But Sam Winchester Is Queer In Every Single One Of These, M/M, Ship/Summary/Warnings In Individual Chapter Notes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:54:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinBitch/pseuds/PinBitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little collection of ficlets about various characters completely ADORING our favourite law boy/bloodfreak/bookslut, platonically and/or romantically. It’s what he deserves.</p><p>———</p><p>If there’s a ship/scenario you’d like to see then feel free to send me a prompt at pinbitch on tumblr!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sastiel. past unrequited dean/cas. musings on love and freedom</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With Dean it had felt inevitable, like he’d reached into Hell and the scripture had said <em>this is my Righteous Man and you will love him</em>. Every moment after that had been Written, every time Dean had gripped him by the back of his neck and ground his face into <em>what love was</em>. Not one second of it had felt like free will.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sam on the other hand... Sam had crept up on him. He’d learnt Sam first, had let the boy with the demon blood take his hand and his harsh words and guide him gently through the business of kindness and humanity and <em>how</em> to love. Those lessons had ended with one final treatise on how Falling could be the most holy act of all, and as he was pulled back together by the grace of God, all he could think was that they’d had the wrong Righteous Man all along.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Scripture had shattered that day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So now, much later, in Sam’s (<em>their?</em>) room in the Bunker, with a sleeping head pillowed on his lap and his hand running through warm brown hair—</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div><p>he’s long since stopped thinking of it as his vessel’s hand. He knows it’s wrong, he knows it’s stolen, but he doesn’t feel anywhere near as bad about it as he ought to because Sam’s hair is soft and silky between his fingers <br/>
</p>
<p></p><div><p>—all he can think is <em>I chose you</em>, and it’s jubilant. </p></div></div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And then, when Sam stirs and blinks awake and the first thing his does when their eyes meet is grin, bright and beautiful and just a little befuddled, like he really can’t believe his luck— Well, then it’s entirely Castiel’s decision to bend down and kiss him, slightly shocked at his own good fortune, and think <em>you chose me</em>.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>saileen. post carry on. eileen is blurrywife. grief and, well, carrying on</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It hits her quite suddenly one day, almost out of the blue. Sam is doing that thing he does when he’s driving, eyes fixed on the road but face turned toward her just enough that she can clearly read his lips. He thinks she doesn’t know it gives him a crick in his neck on long journeys. His grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, as it always is these days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I always think of her as Baby,” he’s saying, and Eileen knows he’s grieving, knows it’s kind of callous, but she’s glad she has an excellent excuse to watch his mouth. “I just never planned on telling him that. Wish I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watches his chest move in a long sigh, and the way his shoulders hunch over just a little bit more, and the realisation comes clear and sharp: it’s him or hunting. Maybe he doesn’t quite realise it yet, but he’s burnt out. He’s been burnt out ever since... It’s gonna get him killed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second, Eileen pretends it’s a hard decision. It’s not though. It’s terrifying, hunting is all she’s ever really known, and she’s spent so long fighting to be considered capable, and having to do that all over again as a civilian is daunting at best, but she’s never had something this good before. And, well, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who wouldn’t stop for Sam?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the choice is made the future opens up before her. It’s like waking up, suddenly the world is right there and unlimited and all for the taking and they could do anything or nothing at all and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eileen stops before she can get too far ahead of herself. Yes, she’s excited. Yes, she’s itching for the unknown. But Sam isn’t, not yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she won’t leave him behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s not sure he’ll ever stop grieving. She knows he’s not trying to move on. He’s just learning to live with the weight of it. She also knows she won’t let it ruin him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam’s eyes flick periodically between her and the road. The only response she’d given his delicately agonised confession was a gentle hum, because that’s all he’d wanted, and since then his face has been softened by awe and wonder. The next time he glances her way she lets him see that she’s noticed, that she’s watching him too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s getting late in the day and golden sunlight ignites the wheat fields stretching around them. It’s been Kansas wheat for miles and miles now. The not-quite-yet-sunset pours through the car’s open windows and makes Sam glow, makes his eyelashes cast shadows on those frankly ridiculous cheekbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His forehead wrinkles and his eyes widen slightly as he stares at her staring. Eileen thinks she should probably tell him to watch the road. One corner of his mouth twitches up in bemusement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asks softly. There’s a vulnerability to the way his lips form the word that makes her feel blessed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole situation is tender, like a bruise. Sam’s hands are still white-knuckled on the wheel. She can’t wait to present him with all their possibilities, but that’s not for now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sam! The road!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s immediately on the breaks and they’re halfway to a stop before he realises there’s nothing there. Sam turns an expression of absolute incredulity onto her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” he says, face indignant but not angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t paying attention,” replies Eileen, biting back a shit eating grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second, Sam just blinks at her. His hands have relaxed on the steering wheel, no longer squeezing so tight it had to hurt, startled into serenity. Mission accomplished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he throws back his head and laughs. He’s all dimples and shaking shoulders and sunlight. The weight’s still there —grief and joy are not mutually exclusive— but he’s put it aside for the moment. He’s not going to let it ruin him either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam reaches across the seat and takes her hand in his, large and warm and their calluses match up. Fingers woven together, other hand on the wheel, he lets go of the break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They drive on.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>